


it's a quiet time, but it's not solitude

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: FrUK, Just a drabble, M/M, francis is pretty lets face it, ukfr - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 23:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2406056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the early morning sunlight, Arthur will admit to himself that Francis is indeed quite pretty. He just won't admit it outloud, that's all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's a quiet time, but it's not solitude

**Author's Note:**

> Just an 'Early morning FrUK' drabble.

Arthur would never admit it because the reasoning behind it was ridiculous, but he loved early mornings. The light was soft and gentle, streaming in through the part in the curtain, and the air was thick and smelled of himself and of the man lying next to him. 

Despite knowing it probably looked silly, Arthur couldn't help but smile as he watched the steady rise and fall of Francis's chest. It wasn't entirely quiet--his mouth was open and his breathing was audible, but he was quiet enough that it wasn't a nuisance. Not that Arthur would ever really think of Francis's mere breathing as a nuisance, save the nights when Francis was sick and his coughing and labored breathing kept him up.   
With that same smile--perhaps even a bit more fond than before--Arthur moved his hand to run it through Francis's hair. It likely wasn't the most comfortable, and it hit several small tangles on the way down. The price, of course, of having long hair. But it was soft and smooth, even despite the tangles, and Arthur couldn't help but enjoy it. Maybe someday he'd actually feel able to tell Francis he liked it, but today wasn't that day. 

And, as he looked down at Francis's sleeping form, resting somewhere between his stomach and side with his head resting on Arthur's chest (breath hot against his belly), Arthur wondered if Francis would be offended if he ever mentioned just how heavy he was when he was sleeping. The usual daintiness he used when sitting or lying--always supporting himself with a hand or a hip, never just lying still and resting fully on one other person (and might that be a metaphor for something?)--was gone, and he simply slept, and slept heavily at that. 

Arthur decided it was a good thing. 

Not to mention he got to feel more real skin-to-skin contact than usual, and he happened to love feeling the other lying over him. Francis was... Well, he wasn't overly muscular. Perhaps even that was an understatement--the truth of the matter was that Francis had relatively little muscle and was comprised of a lot more softer tissues than the other man was probably comfortable with. Good thing Arthur was comfortable with it. Maybe someday he'd tell him straightforward that he liked how comfortable Francis was around him when they were sleeping, and that it was a bit of a disappointment that he couldn't do the same while they were awake. 

Not that Arthur was lacking in affection. God, he was practically drowning in it. 

But sometimes he wanted more than just a kiss or a hand running through his hair as the other snaked around his waist with particular finesse--  
Sometimes he wanted more than to be pulled into Francis's lap, and if those things included instead pulling Francis's into his and perhaps getting a good grip on those hips of his, well, perhaps that was something he'd say when he learned how to say the many things he couldn't.   
While Francis was sleeping, however, Arthur could think the many things that were otherwise unthinkable. 

He could think, 'Francis's hair is soft,' or 'I want to kiss him over all of him, like he always does to me.' He could even think, 'I love him, and I'm grateful he's with me.' 

And no one could hold him accountable later on. 

So he simply continued running his fingers through Francis's hair, occasionally sneaking his other hand down to press lightly all over that soft skin that Francis always teased him with, though he doubted Francis even knew how much he loved it. 

(Which was a shame--Francis deserved to know that Arthur loved Francis's body as much as Francis always seemed to love his, and Arthur's own, too.) 

During these early morning times, Arthur supposed that, no matter how silly, now ridiculous or preposterous it seemed, it didn't hurt to reflect on the little things while his lover was still sleeping. After all, when Francis woke up they could go back to bickering. As for now, well. Arthur was fine with giving a sleeping Francis the affection he so frequently denied him. 

Francis never needed to know just how pretty he looked in the early morning light, anyways. It would just add more ego to that big head of his.


End file.
